


It's a Wonderful Life

by SammysGirl666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Djinnverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammysGirl666/pseuds/SammysGirl666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you ever wonder what things might have been like if you hadn't been a part of the story?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Wonderful Life

**Author's Note:**

> You can all thank Leo for this.

Sam wandered through the empty hallways of the house, trying to remain calm. The bizarreness of what was happening couldn’t be allowed to overtake him or else he’d start to panic and that was never good. However, his measured sense of self didn’t stop what was happening from being weirder than the usual stuff he had to put up with. He had woken up in this empty house a few minutes ago and was now searching for his brother. Usually, in situations like this, Dean was always somewhere nearby. Maybe tied up or knocked out or looking for Sam somewhere else.

But there was none of that.

Sam went up and down the stairs, glancing around, not seeing any hints or clues as to where Dean was or how he got here. It was strange. The place seemed to be lived-in; an utterly normal suburban home that, judging by the architecture, was built too recently to be under a threat of haunting.

Sam had seen weirder, though, he supposed. Still, he couldn’t find Dean and couldn’t, at all, remember how he got here. He made an attempt to look in one of the closed bedrooms, only for the knob to go right through his fingers. His eyes widened, tried again and again. Spinning around, his eyes frantically searched the house, looking for some sort of clue as to where he was.

It didn’t make any sense but, ever the hunter, he put his panic and worry aside and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

He was a ghost, or some non-corporal being, that much was obvious. He went back down the stairs and retraced his steps through the hallways, trying to find some family pictures or something. If he _was_ a ghost, why would he be haunting some house he didn’t recognize? Nothing about the place was familiar to him. And if he wasn’t a ghost, some astral projection of himself, then where was he? And why was he here?

At this point, he couldn’t discount either possibility. However, he leaned toward the latter because he didn’t remember dying. Still, that didn’t answer any of the questions as to where he was or what he was doing here.

A shocked gasp left his mouth when he finally turned the right corner and came upon the family room.

Confusion assaulted his mind. It was his house…or had been. Must have been, anyway. He didn’t have any memory of what the place had looked like, but he knew it had to be. Because the picture above the mantle was a picture of his family. Almost.

Except, it wasn’t really. It couldn’t have been. He walked forward, head tilting to the side. It was his mom, his dad, Dean, and...Adam? Except not him, either. It wasn’t Adam, not exactly. Nearly, but not entirely. The hair was darker, the eyes more tilted, and the smile more familiar. Looked a little more like a Winchester. But Sam, himself, was absent from the photo. He looked around and found, in fact, that he was absent from every single one that was perched on the mantle.

There were familiar photos, ones he could have sworn he’d seen before but Adam or “not Adam” was in every single one. He couldn’t make sense of it and, instead, looked at his mom and dad. They were alive. Sam couldn’t breathe. They were _alive_. He didn’t know where he was or why but, here, his parents were alive. That was nearly enough to make him never want to leave. Mom was radiant, had aged beautifully. Her blond hair was becoming gracefully silver and her eyes were still deep as the ocean. Dad looked…more relaxed than Sam had ever seen him. The smiles in the photos were genuine, unforced, and easy.

He almost looked like a completely different person. The coldness in his eyes that Sam had been accustomed to was gone. There were no lines on his face drawn from prolonged grieving. This was John who had never seen his wife’s body burn on the ceiling. Sam couldn’t fully comprehend that so he looked at the other recognizable person in the picture.

Dean…Dean looked happy.  So unabashedly happy that it took Sam’s breath away. He had never seen Dean look like that, green eyes sparkling and smile stretched wide, like he was truly carefree. Dean hadn’t even looked like this when he was 26, or any other age for that matter. Dean, not haunted by a traumatic childhood…he was beautiful.

Sam ogled the picture, eyes darting from each happy face to the next, even not-Adam. He didn’t know why he wasn’t in the picture, but it didn’t matter because the faces of his smiling family were precious and Sam wanted to cut each of them out and keep them forever, just like that. The nagging worry in his head ebbed, forgot that he was supposed to be figuring out how to get out of this place.

That was when he heard the sound of the front door being unlocked. Instinct made him freeze up, act like a deer caught in the headlights because he didn’t have enough time to hide. But Dean and “not-Adam” came through the door and didn’t even spare Sam a glance. He must have been invisible to them. It wasn’t totally surprising, all things considered and now probably would have been a good time to figure out how to contact Dean to see if he couldn’t get out of here but, for some reason, he didn’t. Instead, he observed and watched them walk into the living room. Feeling compelled, he followed them. They were wrapped up in coats so it must have been winter outside. The last Sam remembered in his world (because he had to assume this was a different world entirely), it was near Christmas.

He wondered if things were operating on the same timeline, here. Wherever “here” was. Dean and not-Adam took off their coats and kicked their boots off. They were the right ages. At least, Dean was. Not-Adam looked like what Sam imagined Adam would look like now. A little broader, a little more filled out, with more sureness in his step, but still young.

Dean looked the same but the worry lines that Sam had gotten so used to were gone. He walked with his shoulders thrown back, like he used to when he was 26, with swagger and confidence and good humor…all things the world and Sam had drained form him over time. But not here…not in this paradigm. Dean looked happy and Sam could feel himself getting addicted to the sight. How many nights had he wasted, praying for exactly that look on Dean’s face?

“Ready to get crushed at Madden?” not-Adam, asked, smiling back at Dean as they walked into the living room.

“I didn’t come all the way here from Austin just to beat you in Madden, brat,” Dean said. The banter was familiar and strange from this perspective. Jealousy simmered in Sam’s chest but he bit it back and watched the two.

“You’re just saying that because you know you can’t beat me,” not-Adam baited.

“Oh, you’re so on,” Dean said, taking it. They set up the game console and Sam watched as the two of them played Madden.

Adam did beat Dean multiple times, all the while they exchanged playful insults and hooted and hollered and laughed. Whatever jealousy that Sam felt evaporated. He found himself laughing along with them, getting caught up in the genuine happiness they seemed to feel. Sam’s eyes rarely left Dean. His smiling face and sparkling eyes…looking like the world never touched him with its rougher hands, never dragged him through the mud, and never made him walk on glass before rubbing salt into the wounds.

It was probably one of the most beautiful things Sam had never seen. Not in a weird way, but in a genuine way. Like an eighth wonder of the world. The Grand Canyon at sunset or the Aurora Borealis streaking across the sky in an array of multicolored awesomeness. Dean’s unfettered, carefree smile was like that. And Sam couldn’t look away for a second.

He could have sat here forever and watched them. Found himself appreciating not-Adam more and more. “Abe,” Dean had called him. Abe. Abe Winchester. It sounded strange but Sam looked at the younger man and finally knew exactly who he was. Dean’s little brother. A stranger to Sam, but so oddly familiar. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t begin to comprehend it and he knew a part of him should have felt territorial. Betrayed. Should have felt something.

But all he could see, all he could _feel_ , was Dean’s smile.

When the front door opened again, Mary and John walked through, lugging a Christmas tree. It was mid-sized and covered in frost. John was doing most of the carrying as Mary held down the branches to get it through the door. Dean and Abe stood up to help, turning the game off and assisting their parents in setting up the Christmas tree.

Sam had to get up close now, felt this aching pull, practically ran to the foyer so he could stand in front of his mother. Older than he ever remembered her being in photos, but beautiful. The most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen, like a painting, like a picture. So breathtakingly beautiful, it hurt Sam’s heart. Her face was lined with age and many years of mothering what had to have been two unruly boys.

There were laugh lines around her mouth, a warm sparkle in her eye. And the only heartbreaking thing about her was how unfamiliar she was, how much of a stranger she was. How, when Sam looked into those warm, motherly eyes, it wasn’t anything he could recall seeing before. And he could have stared at it until death forced his eyes closed but she was moving toward him. Suddenly he wanted to feel her, wanted to hug her and hold her and tell her how much he had missed her, how much he had wished he’d known her.

But she passed right through him. He gasped, felt like his heart cracked right down the middle but it was quickly patched and warmed over by the scene unfolding before him. A family…his family…celebrating Christmas like it was some kind of tradition.

Sam let his eyes fall to John. He looked like John, but far less tired and world-weary. Sam wanted to know what this John was like, what he cared about. What kind of person he was. So he continued to observe, watched as they moved further into the house.

“Abel, can you help me in the kitchen?” Mary asked. Abe nodded and followed her through doorway to the kitchen. Again, Sam felt a pang of jealousy toward him, for getting things he didn’t. But he ignored the feeling and watched his brother and his father interact. They dusted off the frost from the Christmas tree and began to prepare it for decorating.

“So Deano,” John said, “how is Austin?”

There was a weird tension there that Sam couldn’t place. He had heard that voice out of his father’s mouth many times. That voice where he was clearly trying to talk past the issues, trying to make small talk to lighten things up. He used to use the tactic on Sam all the time. It was so strangely familiar and absolutely foreign at the same time. Even more so that it was directed at Dean. Dean responded tightly with “fine.” Sam frowned, suddenly worried that in this universe, Dean and dad didn’t get along. But then he figured it was a small price to pay for everything else. The moment between the two older men passed when Abel walked back into the room, holding two beers. He handed one to Dean and John and then disappeared back into the kitchen.

Aside from what might have been personal conflict, the whole of them were perfectly domestic, nothing even slightly out of the ordinary. Each of their movements around the house were natural, familiar, routine. Like they’d spent years here, getting to know every corner and crevice of the place. As if they’d grown up like any other suburban family. And as Sam looked around, he could see the signs of use and wear. It was almost a projection of all the dreams Sam used to have of having a life just like that, having a house just like that where every space was in some way, their own.

He couldn’t stop taking it in if he wanted to. A voice that sounded strangely like Dean ( _his_ Dean) told him he had to figure out why he was here. But it was being drowned out by Sam’s marvel as he took in every tiny detail of the house that he might have grown up in had things gone differently.

Cabinets were slightly crooked on their hinges, patches of the carpet were darkened permanently. He found a place where little kids had obviously scribbled in permanent marker over the molding. He even found the faint tracings of height markers in kitchen doorway. Each with an “Abe” or “Dean” next to it. Sam didn’t even think of his absence, too amazed by the world he was observing.

Sam guessed that it was that “after work” hour of the day where parents came home and made dinner and families spent time together. He walked into the kitchen to see Mary making dinner. Again, Sam had that feeling that he could stand there and watch her forever. There was nothing spectacular about what she was doing, cutting peeled potatoes into large squares that throwing them into a pot. Probably making stew or a side of mash potatoes or something equally delicious.

She had probably learned the trade of domesticity, took cooking classes and other things to help her fill the role of a wife and a mother. Whatever she was making filled the house with a delicious aroma and Sam closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of it. His mouth watered and when he opened his eyes, his mom was looking right at him. Another breath stole from his lips and he felt his heart stammer. He wanted her to say his name.

She opened her mouth and Sam’s breathing hitched. Could she see him?

“Abe,” She said quietly and Sam deflated, hurt but not bitter. Pushing his feelings aside, he continued to watch them. Abel, who Sam had forgotten about, was standing at the sink, peeling carrots.

“Yeah ma?” He asked, not looking up from his task. The peels were collecting into a plastic bad he had placed in the sink.

“Could you grab me the oregano?” Mary asked. Abel nodded and went to the cabinet, opening it to reveal an array of spices. He grabbed the oregano and handed it to his mother who thanked him and kissed him on the cheek.

Sam paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, watching his dad and brother watch the football game and his mom and Abel making dinner. It was all so mundane but Sam couldn’t stop the observing it. It was so perfect, so wholesome, so much of everything the Winchester boys were never supposed to have because of the blood Sam was fed before he was old enough to even know what blood was.

These were things, this was the life that Sam had imagined having when he was younger. Before he know of the tainted poison he was carrying around in his body. He had wanted this, wanted this domesticity. And he continued to want it, even afterward, but more for Dean that himself. He wanted one of them to be happy, he wanted Dean to have the live he deserved.

And he had never deserved being saddled with a cursed brother. Sam knew that much and found himself feeling more and more grateful toward this bizarre place as he watched them all interact, as he watched them all wear smiles that spoke of true contentment. Sam wished he was a part of it but, at the same time, didn’t. He would just ruin it. And he didn’t want to ruin more things for his brother or the rest of his family.

When dinner was ready--potatoes and chicken as it turned out--the family gathered to sit at the dining table in the dining room. Sam stood in the corner, trying to be as out of the way as possible even if they couldn’t see him or touch him or hear him. It was quiet while they served up their dinners and took the first bites. The silence was finally by broken by Abel.

“These potatoes are really good, mom,” he said. Mary smiled and gave him a smile and a wink, thanking him. Dad apparently took that as his cue to start dinner conversation. The odd tension from before crept back in and Sam felt himself tense up with Abel and his mother when John opened his mouth.

“So Dean,” he said and Dean dropped his fork and knife, apparently preparing for something less pleasant that passing conversation. “You found a job in Austin yet?”

“No,” Dean answered through clenched teeth. Abel reached out and put a hand on Dean’s arm. Dean gave him a thankful look but his shoulders didn’t relax. John sighed and dropped his own utensils, bringing his fingers together over his dinner plate.

“Dean,” He said in a voice that Sam had only ever heard used on himself. “I was fine with lettin’ you take a year off work to go travel the world. But it’s been nine months. I’m just worried about you, son. How are you going to make a living if you don’t go back to work?”

“I told you, Dad, my band and I are getting gigs. This music thing is gonna work out. Why can’t you have a little faith?” Dean retorted, voice rising.

“I’ll have faith when you stop getting eviction notices, Dean! You need to get your shit together and stop goofing off with your friends.”

“Goofing off? I haven’t gotten an eviction notice in six months! And we’re being asked to play bigger and bigger venues. You’re just can’t see that because you want us to fail!”

“I don’t want you to fail, Dean, I just want you to start taking things seriously.”

“I do take things seriously! I take my music seriously. Just because I’m not up your ass, going to doing some dead-end job, doesn’t mean I don’t take what I do seriously.”

“You watch your mouth--.”

“I’m a 37 year old grown man, dad. I’ll say whatever I want,” Dean snapped, and the table got deadly quiet. John was clearly enraged but not saying anything at all. Dean stood from the table. “Thanks for dinner, mom.”

He walked out of the dining room and into the kitchen where he walked out the back door, onto the patio. Sam followed him. He wanted to comfort him, felt that familiar instinct kick in. But he couldn’t act on it and stood there and stared a scowling Dean until Abel walked out the backdoor, big coat on and holding another which he handed to Dean. Dean thanked him and put the coat on and the two brothers stood there in silence.

Sam understood that everything about this seemingly perfect world wasn’t perfect. This wasn’t Sam’s ideal reality. Dean was a musician, Sam himself wasn’t an active part of it, and the family obviously had issues. This wasn’t the ideal, this was the product of…a wish.

It hit Sam, then, where he was. He scrunched up his eyebrows. It made sense, when he thought about it. Waking up in a strange place with no recollection of having got there, having no explanation for why things were the way they were, all things that pointed to one answer. A djinn.

He must have been captured by djinn and, yeah, it was all coming back to him. Finding the case, leaving the bunker with Dean, getting caught by the djinn while he was snooping around an old, abandoned hospital. He wondered how long he’d been asleep, if Dean was anywhere near finding his body. There was no way for him to tell, really, how much time was passing in the real world.

The realization should have kicked up some urgency. It should have made him ignore everything else and try and find a way out but he couldn’t move. The hunter in him was screaming but leaving here didn’t seem right yet. He just needed a few more hours to soak up the happiness. Couldn’t bring himself to stop watching Abel and Dean. And he was still curious, still a bit confused as to why he wasn’t an active part of this fantasy, why Abel seemed to be taking his place.

And then Abel spoke.

“Don’t listen to him Dean. You’re a great musician and…you’ll make it. You always do.”

“What does he talk about on the holidays when I’m not here?” Dean asked, still sounding angry.

“Mostly you,” Abel said back, smirking. “Listen man, I know you’re not big on heart-to-hearts. But you’re my big brother. I learned everything from watching you do it first. And I think you can do this, Dean. If anyone I know can, it’s you. So don’t listen to dad. Just…know that you’re my brother and I love you and I believe in you.”

The words rang in Sam’s ears oddly. It was like someone had piped his thoughts into Abel’s mouth. Because that’s what Sam would have said. No, more accurately, it was what Sam would have wanted to say but would have been too afraid to. In his world, in the real world, Sam would have bit back that last part, would have shied away from expressing too much.

But this wasn’t the real world. Dean relaxed and turned toward Abel, smiling.

“Sap,” He said, rolling his eyes. But he pulled the younger man into a hug and it jarred Sam a bit, to notice that Abel was shorter than Dean. Abel was supportive, kind, caring, a good son, a good brother…Sam’s eyes widened.

He knew who Abel was.

Who he was supposed to be anyway, and everything made sense. Sam became suddenly aware of the wish he had made and it ached but it was so relieving too. To know the truth, or something like it. And he really should want to wake up, to find Dean. He should want to leave. But this place was so beautiful…so untainted. And Dean smiled. And Dad cared. Mom was alive. Abel was the perfect second son.

There was no reason for Sam to want to leave, to go back and read the disappointment that always lingered in Dean’s gaze these days. He was tired, so god damn tired. And even knowing that everything here was an illusion didn’t make him want to go back, not entirely. Not enough to make it a reality.

He followed Dean and Abel back into the house and watched as Dean and John exchanged words, seeming to come to an understanding for the night. They sat down and ate pie for desert, and the conversation was light and humorous this time, less tense. Abel talked about a girl he was getting to know and Dean talked about life on tour.

Mary and John listened avidly to their kids, exchanging fond looks every once and a while. Sam sat down at the end of the dining table, crossed his legs, and stared up at the family. They weren’t perfect, no. No family ever was. Nothing ever could be. But they were happy. Normal. Aside from Mary, nobody at the table knew about ghosts or monsters or all the dark things in the world.

Dean played music, Abel played lacrosse and John was a mechanic. It was surreal. Of course it as, it _wasn’t_ real. But Sam wanted it to be. He wanted this to be the reality, so much it made him feel like he was withering away inside. There was something sad, he supposed, about only being a ghost in the world. A spectator. Something sad about the way he was a bystander to his own ideal fantasy.

How Abel wasn’t even an idealized version of himself, but an idealized version of an idealized version of himself. He supposed it said something about the depths of his impurity that he couldn’t feel sorry for himself, couldn’t even blink at the way his own subconscious had written him out of the story, just to make the words on the page a little happier. It confirmed all his suspicions, though, put it all in perspective.

And he didn’t know what his state was in the real world, whether Dean had found him or not but Sam didn’t care. He selfishly wanted to stay, forever, wanted to be here to see Dean get old and gray, to watch is parents die peaceful deaths. He wanted to stay and see how the world might have been if someone else had been holding the pen.

But then the scene before him flashed and a spike of pain shot up his neck. He saw a glimpse of dirty white hospital sheets, and heard a far off voice whisper his name. Dean. _His_ Dean.

“No,” He said. It was the first word he’d uttered since waking up in the house. The images flashed again and he squeezed his eyes shut.

 _You have to want to leave, Sammy_ , he heard Dean say but it was so quiet, so easy to ignore if Sam just kept sitting here. But the urgency was creeping in. The feeling of being needed elsewhere pulled at his insides and he could feel consciousness slowly mixing with the strange dream-reality. That was when Abel turned to him.

“Don’t leave, Sam,” He said. Sam looked at him, wide-eyed. He stood from his seat. The rest of the family was quiet, sitting around the table, looking at Sam. “I’ll admit I had trouble conjuring this up. It was hard to create a world you would want to stay in with a wish like that. But look around Sam, look at their faces.”

Suddenly, the scene resumed. Mary and John began talking about their day, seemingly oblivious to the conversation Abel and Sam were having. Dean was still looking at Sam, but hadn’t said anything.

“You could stay here, Sam,” Abel said. “Watch them be happy, and die happy. I promise you won’t feel a thing going on outside. You’ll slip away quietly in your sleep. And you’ll get to watch them all live long, happy, normal lives. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Let yourself have this, Sam. You already wrote yourself out of your own story so let yourself keep this.”

Dean’s voice was getting closer and closer and Sam walked up to Abel. He wanted to stay. He really wanted to stay. It was surprising the force with which he wanted it, how okay he was with being a ghost for the rest of his life if it meant seeing Dean be happy, seeing them all be happy…in a world where none of them had to make sacrifices for his sake.

“I can’t,” Sam whispered, feeling tears push behind his eyes. “I can’t. I have to go. I have to go be with Dean.”

“You can be with me, Sammy,” Dean said. He stood up from the table and came to stand in front of Sam. “You can stay here and watch me grow old. I’ll have the life you always wanted for me.”

“No,” Sam said, “no, this isn’t real.”

“It’s real enough, isn’t it?” Dean asked and all the little details of the house seemed to be thrown into sharp contrast. “I got the details good didn’t I? This could be the rest of your life Sam. You and the ones you love could die happy and you wouldn’t ever have to know differently.”

But Sam did know differently and Dean’s voice was really close now, he could make out the words. “Sammy, please.” But it wasn’t djinn!Dean who said it. It was Dean, outside. Dean who needed Sam, no matter how much it had cost him in life to feel that way.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered and closed his eyes a final time. A sensation of falling overtook him and the djinn world faded to blackness.

When he woke up again, they were back in the bunker. The djinn hunt had only been a few counties over so Sam hadn’t been passed out for too long, at least he hoped that wasn’t the case. Dean came in, carrying a tray with food on it. He handed it to Sam before sitting on the bed, on top of the covers, next to the younger man.

“You weren’t out for too long before I found you,” Dean informed him. “The djinn was pretty easy to kill once I got you out of his spell. How long was it…wherever you were?”

Sam remembered that Dean had been in a djinn world once. A world where their mother hadn’t died. He thought on it. It hadn’t more than a day.

“Not that long,” Sam admitted. “But it was…good.”

He decided not to lie. After all, Dean had been honest with him all those years ago too. And just like Dean, he had wanted to stay. Badly.

“What did you wish for?” Dean asked, looking curious. Sam thought about telling the truth. But he couldn’t do that to Dean. He couldn’t do that to them. It wasn’t worth it.

“That the YED never came for me,” Sam said instead. It was good lie, believable. Dean nodded, didn’t ask any more questions as he turned the TV on and switched over to Netflix. Sam would be on R&R for a few days.

Sam didn’t say anything, didn’t have anything to say and was happy, for once, that his brother wasn’t the type to ask questions. But he couldn’t help but look over at Dean every few seconds, and remember what that face looked like when it was unashamedly, unabashedly happy. He couldn’t help the thoughts that came as he sat there and forced himself to laugh and eat with Dean.

 _How much better your life would have been_ , he thought solemnly, _had I never been born._

**Author's Note:**

> Find and follow at veganwincest.tumblr.com!


End file.
